Chapter 62

The night was deep and silent.

Mr. Alistair tossed and turned all night.

Stella Valentine could hear his muffled sobs—like a wounded beast licking its wounds in the dark. She lay rigid, afraid to move, unwilling to disturb what little dignity he had left.

Dawn crept in before she finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

The alarm blared at seven sharp.

The sheets beside her were smooth and untouched, as if no one had ever been there. She had grown accustomed to this eerie phenomenon—every night in Room 1231 of Houston Grand Hotel, she slept soundly, never noticing when he slipped away.

After washing up, she applied a light layer of makeup in the mirror.

Her phone rang abruptly.

"Stella, are you on your way?" Joy Fairsprene's voice crackled with urgency.

Stella glanced at the blur of scenery outside the taxi window. "Fifteen minutes."

"Perfect!" Joy exhaled in relief. "My friend despises tardiness."

"Professionalism. I understand."

"There's more," Joy lowered her voice. "He has a thing against beautiful women."

Stella arched a brow. "Why?"

"Got burned by his first love. Once rejected a brilliant female designer just because she was pretty." Joy hesitated. "Don’t wear any makeup today!"

A soft chuckle escaped Stella. "Already wiped it off."

"No, no, your bare face is still too—" Joy gasped. "Wait! Is there an eyewear shop nearby? Get the ugliest black-framed glasses you can find!"

The taxi happened to pass one.

Stella hurried inside.

"Need an eye exam, miss?" The clerk beamed.

"Black frames." She cut straight to the point. "The uglier, the better."

The clerk's smile froze.

Five minutes later, she emerged wearing a pair of hideously thick glasses. The reflection staring back resembled a bookish nerd. Satisfied, she smirked.

As she walked toward Unique Jewelry, memories flooded in.

During her design studies abroad, rings had been her specialty. She once sketched a "Stella Ring" for an engagement—sapphire base with diamond accents. The draft had caused a sensation—

She shook her head violently, forcing herself back to reality.

The company's entrance loomed ahead.

"Miss Stella Valentine?" The receptionist smiled. "Ms. Fairsprene notified us. Please follow me."

The elevator ascended to the conference floor.

Through the glass wall, she spotted two unexpected figures—Adrian Roland and Lily Savigny seated across from a slick-suited man oozing sycophancy.

"These are the VIP clients?" Stella whispered.

The receptionist nodded. "Mr. Roland has high standards. All our designers' proposals were rejected."

Stella drew a sharp breath and pushed the door open.

Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her.

Adrian's pupils constricted. Lily's face twisted. The suited man frowned. "You're the designer Ms. Fairsprene recommended?"

"I'm Stella Valentine."

His scrutinizing gaze dripped with skepticism. "She claimed you're a once-in-a-century genius—"

Stella nearly bit her tongue.

That exaggerating Joy.

"She might've oversold to help me." Her voice remained steady.

"Wait in my office." He waved dismissively. "End of the hall—Manager Quentin's office."

She turned to leave.

"Wait."

Adrian stood abruptly, his voice a low rumble. "Let her try."

Manager Quentin gaped. "But she hasn't even—"

"Your designers keep disappointing Lily." Adrian's gaze pinned Stella in place. "Give the newcomer a shot."